


A Thief in Wolf's Clothing: Part III

by Beuphtiful



Series: Krent Mon Do Akatosh [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Mild Gore, OC Dragonborn - Freeform, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beuphtiful/pseuds/Beuphtiful
Summary: A home shattered. Aerisif had just made herself comfortable with the Companions, comfortable being Kjolti, when the gods ripped that home apart with the death of Kodlak. Kjolti struggles with the forces within her and around her, and her destiny as the Dragonborn tugs at her again. Will she answer the call?
Relationships: Brynjolf/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farkas
Series: Krent Mon Do Akatosh [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1452178
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. A Funeral For a Wolf

Emptiness.

The mood surrounding Jorrvaskr was best described as emptiness. The warriors went about their business with not a word. Mournful eyes met briefly before abruptlybreaking contact, lest any tears begin to flow again.

Hollowness pervaded the mead hall for the days following Kodlak’s death. The Companions moved mechanically, without any life in their actions. Preparations for the funeral were made solemnly and without extra conversation. There were no words for the misery they all shared.

Every now and then, the heavy silence would be interrupted by grief drenched howling, both human and canine. For so great a man as Kodlak to be taken down in such a cowardly manner stripped the Companions of their pride. And to add insult to injury, the Silver Hand had stolen their shards of Wuthraad. Those shards were honored relics to The Companions, and Kjolti had helped to recover several of them herself. Plots to earn back their pride were muttered in hushed words, but none would dare raise a finger until their Harbinger had been properly laid to rest.

After discovering Kodlak’s body, Kjolti had fled to the roof. She sat there, unseeing. She wasn’t sure how long. Her knees were curled up to her chest, just as they had been the day that Kodlak and Skor pulled her from the ashes of her farm. Tears left dirty trails down her cheeks. Many tried to persuade her to come down, but Kjolti didn’t hear them. She was in something of a trance. Aela, Farkas, and Vilkas all climbed up and sat with her, trying to coax her into conversation and down from the roof, but Kjolti just stared blankly into the distance before her. The shame she felt was too great to move. It pinned her in place.

Only Farkas stayed with her. Their argument was forgotten. It seemed so trivial now. Kjolti was too withdrawn to even recall why they had been fighting, or that they had fought at all. Farkas was relieved for it to be in the past. And now, in their grief, their companionship held them together. Farkas stayed and sat next to Kjolti and she let him. It was enough.

He watched as she stared blankly out over the city. He watched as tears welled in her eyes, and spilled over onto her cheeks, over and over again. Farkas wasn’t sure she was even aware of it.

And so Farkas talked. He was’t even sure she could hear him, and that suited him just fine. Normally not one for words, he found he had them now. He told Kjolti about how he and Vilkas grew up in the hall. He told her about their father, Jergen, who had been a Companion as well. Told her he left when they were little and never came back. He died in the Great War. Kodlak became their father then. Farkas talked about how Kodlak brought them up, moulded them into men. Made sure they stayed on the right path. He confided that he couldn’t remember Jergen’s face anymore. Whenever he tried, he just saw Kodlak.

When night fell and she showed no signs of moving, he scooted closer to her. She did not move away. He placed his arm around her; she did not flinch. And as he embraced her, she succumbed to the comfort she sorely needed and curled up next to him. There were no romantic intentions in this touch; only the intimacy of friendship.

It was what they both needed in that moment.

***

By unspoken consent, Skjor took up the mantle as Harbinger. There was a halfhearted meeting of the Inner Circle to confirm it, a mere formality. Kjolti climbed down from her perch to participate, but the blank look in her eyes remained. Vilkas recited the phrases and Skjor replied appropriately. There was no joy, no chest beating, no pride in this ceremony.

Kodlak’s funeral took place at dusk. The entirety of the Companions gathered to the Skyforge. Jobs mattered not when it was time to lay a Harbinger to rest. Some of them wore the same blank expressions that Kjolti did. Many did not attempt to hide their tears and grief, for their outpouring of emotion honored Kodlak’s spirit.

As Skjor began to speak, Kjolti slowly felt herself return to her body. She blinked, still feeling half in a trance. Aela was by her side, and Farkas as well. His normally kind eyes were full of sadness. Something echoed in Kjolti’s mind, that Kodlak had been like a father to him and Vilkas.

 _I am not the only one who has lost someone dear_.

She gently tucked her arm around Farkas’s elbow. He looked down at her, surprised, and attempted a smile, but it was doused in grief.

When Skjor called that Kodlak would join his ilk in the great hall of Sovngarde, Kjolti caught a strange look in his face, an uncertainty he had never displayed before. Beside her, Aela shifted uncomfortably.

Eorland lit the forge. Fire was the proper way for a warrior to pass into Sovngarde. Though it needed no stoking, every Companion took a torch in their hands and gently placed it beside Kodlak’s body to feed the flames. A token from the living, to help the dead find their way to Sovngarde. The fire spread hungrily, encasing the former Harbinger’s body.

In the forge, Kjolti saw the flames that engulfed her family’s farm.

She recalled the kindness in Kodlak’s face the day he and Skjor found her. She saw the knowing smile of recognition when she arrived at Jorrvaskr, the fatherly pride in his eyes when she became a Companion in full. The concern when she had taken the beast blood. And through it all, in every memory, she saw her father’s face in Kodlak’s.

_I failed him. I failed them both._

Kjolti began to withdraw again.

***

The feast that followed was tame in comparison to the usual gatherings Jorrvaskr held, but it was a lighter mood than the funeral. It would be wrong to call it joy; no, it was not joyful. But it was gentler. Most are only exposed to the hardened exteriors of the warriors of Jorrvaskr. But at that feast, their soft hearts were revealed. The older warriors who had fought alongside Kodlak told tales of him before he was Harbinger, and younger members told of the guidance Kodlak had provided them. Skjor, who had been Shield-Brother to Kodlak as long as they had both been Companions, had the best tales to regale, telling of their youthful indiscretions and unlikely adventures. Many mugs were raised in his memory. Broken smiles twitched and sorrow filled eyes met.

Aela clung closer to Skjor than she usually did. Skjor’s near death, followed by the loss of Kodlak, clearly shook her. No one dared comment. Kjolti found herself near to Farkas, as well. He appeared beside her often, offering silent companionship when it was needed. Vilkas too, was softer and kinder than usual. Even he had no jest, no lewd comment that day. Kodlak’s death seemed to age him.

It was near the end of the night when Vilkas pulled her aside. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and a haunted sort of wildness about them.

“We’re going to avenge him,” he growled.

Kjolti nodded absently. “The Companions will rise and tear those bastards apart.”

“No, I mean right now. You and me. Let’s go.”

Kjolti’s head spun. She still wasn’t fully feeling herself after her daze. “Now?” She looked around for Farkas but couldn’t find him.

“There’s no better time to strike. They won’t expect us to rally so soon. And they won’t expect only two of us, we can move faster than the whole pack. We must recover the shards of Wuthraad!”

“The stolen fragments? Just the two of us?” Kjolti’s head was swimming.

“Aye! Our might is unmatched, our prowess unparalleled. Come. Let us bring honor back to this hall!”

In her mind, Kjotli saw the face of Kodlak shift into the face of her father. Glass-eyed, she nodded. “Let’s go.”


	2. A Funeral for a Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With heavy hearts, the Thieves Guild must do what they have put off.

The Cistern was full of silent thieves. Rarely an occasion called for all members of the Thieves Guild to gather in their full numbers, but that night was one of them. It was a moonless night, dark and shrouded. But tonight, jobs were forgotten, heists ignored.

Leather clad figures continued to spill into the Cistern. They lined the outer circle of the watery cavern, perching themselves on any furniture available. Even Maven herself was in attendance. Soon the Cistern was packed to capacity, filled with a multitude of unsavory characters.

The Guild Master’s funeral brought all types to the Ratway.

Vex, Delvin, Brynjolf, and Karliah stood on the center platform, illuminated against the darkness. Vex and Delvin were dressed in the nicest leathers they owned, with the least amount of scratches and patches. Karliah and Brynjolf wore their Nightingale Armor.

Karliah silently strode over to the shrine to Nocturnal the Guild had placed in the Cistern years ago. Thieves and fences parted to make way for her. Karliah knelt in front of the shine. She whispered an incantation and placed some nightshade on the altar as an offering. “Shadows preserve you, Aerisif.” Karliah rose and returned to the platform.

Delvin placed a hand on Karliah’s shoulder. Vex was laboring to look anywhere but anyone’s face. Brynjolf stared blankly at the ground.

“Ah, gods.” Delvin cleared his throat as he realized it fell to him to speak, and took a step forward. “Guild Members, Friends of the Guild. We gather here today to honor the memory of our greatest Guild Master, Aerisif The Shadow.”

All in attendance shifted uncomfortably, but made no sound.

Delvin continued. “Among her accomplishments are the larceny of several of Skyrim’s rarest artifacts, the pilfering of most of the Jarls’ coffers, the retrieval of not one, but both Eyes of the Falmer, the hunting and slaying of the traitorous murderer Mercer Frey, and the restoration of the Skeleton Key and with it, the good fortune of this Guild.”

Brynjolf collected himself and stepped forward. His eyes were still glazed over. “But furthermore, she was a _leader_. Aerisif brought together this band of criminals and shaped us into the highly efficient company of thieves we are now. She forged new connections in the name of the Guild, and has governed us with a fair, but iron grip. Aerisif never hesitated to do what was necessary to protect the Guild, to protect us. The Guild has never seen prosperity like what we have experienced under her direction. We’ve had more and more recruits show up on our doorstep, striving to become a part of our ranks.

“Aerisif deserves more than this. Aerisif deserves more than an empty tomb, a thief’s burial. Aerisif deserves the funeral of a divine.” Brynjolf was choking back tears now. “But this, this is what we can offer her. The solemn respect of the Guild, her Guild. The continuation of what she built for us. And the promise that we will never, NEVER, forget her.”

Vex walked over to the Guild Master’s table and picked up the large tribute chest that sat in front of it. She hefted the container over to the platform and slammed it down. Swinging the lid open, Vex removed a sapphire golden necklace from her pockets and raised it overhead. “One last tribute, to our most profitable Guild Master. To Aerisif.” And she tossed the necklace inside and walked away.

Delvin procured a jeweled urn from a shelf and placed it inside. Karliah pulled an elegant circlet from her pack and put it in the chest.

One by one, the criminals in attendance walked up to the platform and paid their tribute. Some offerings were as small as a single septim. Others were grand and ornate heirlooms, stolen from some of the oldest and most prominent homes in the province. Regardless of age, skill, or rank, each thief placed a stolen trinket in the chest.

Once everyone had put something of value in the tribute chest, Vex locked it back up. She took the key and threw it into the water. Karliah and Delvin each hoisted an end, and carried it into the treasury. They placed it there, and locked the treasury back up. No one would ever use that bounty. It was a memorial.

“There is one more matter that requires our attention,” Delvin called out.

Brynjolf glared at him.

“While Aerisif’s death has left a rift that cannot be replaced, we must have a leader,” Delvin looked at Brynjolf, who was shooting daggers at him. “The Guild Second is traditionally next in line for the position.”

“Delvin,” Brynjolf warned.

“Mate, I know it’s hard.” Delvin spoke in hushed tones. “I know you don’t want it. But look around. They need you. We need you. You’re good for the role, Bryn.”

“We’ve only just lost her.”

“It’s been a year. How long before the order she built crumbles without anyone to keep it? How long before the footpads start steppin’ too far out of line?”

“Delvin—“

“Aerisif would want you to do it.”

That hit Brynjolf in the stomach. He sighed, his eyes stinging. Delvin was right. Aerisif would want him to take her place, she had made that very clear.

“Fine.” The word was spat at Delvin.

“We have our new Guild Master, Brynjolf of Riften!” Delvin announced to the Cistern.

The gathered crowd bowed their heads in respect, and all was silent again for a moment. Thieves began to wander away. Most drifted over to the Ragged Flagon, where Maven had ordered several casks of Black-Briar Mead be delivered. She herself left as quickly as possible, it would not do for the most powerful person in Riften to be seen in the Ratway, but she had dropped a Black-Briar signet ring in the tribute chest with the others.

“Bryn? You coming over to the Flagon? We’re going to celebrate her memory as she always liked; over a cold tankard.”

“Hm?” Brynjolf eyes were glazed over.

“Come drink with us, mate.”

“Aye, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Delvin nodded and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

The Cistern now empty again, Brynjolf sat on the stone ledge, his feet dangling over the water. The light pushing into the cistern caught the ripples in the large basin of water that was centerpiece to the Cistern. It reflected back in shimmering, silver waves.

All Brynjolf saw was Aerisif’s eyes.

_She’s gone._

Brynjolf held his face in both his hands, and he sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact-- I've had this chapter written for months, and was originally going to put it at the beginning of Part II. But then I thought Brynjolf should visit Tullius and Ulfric first. When I then had the opportunity to parallel Kodlak's funeral with Aerisif's...I had to take it.
> 
> Double chapters this week since they're both short! Hope you enjoy, I'd love to hear from you if you liked it!


	3. Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kjolti and Vilkas tear apart Driftshade. Both are overcome with emotion.

Kjolti barely took notice of the ride to Driftshade. The horse stampeding beneath her and the cold wind biting her skin were the only things keeping her grounded, and the tether was fragile at best. The wind that whipped at her face only fueled her charge forward.

Kjolti saw the archer on the roof from a distance and strung her bow. She slowed her horse to a halt to take better aim, while Vilkas leapt off his steed and charged the Silver Hand on the ground. It only took three well placed arrows to fell the Silver Hand archer. He dropped to the ground with a crunch, dead before he even hit the ground. Kjolti joined her shield-brother on the ground and plowed forward.

Her greatsword was in her hands, but she didn’t recall drawing it. She didn’t remember if she opened the door to the keep, or Vilkas. Kjolti blinked and she had run a man through with her sword. She blinked again and he was bleeding out on the ground. Vilkas was unleashing a battle cry around the corner.

They rushed forward through the keep. He had been right; they caught them mostly unawares, not expecting this surprise attack. Body after body after body fell to their blades. Kjolti felt disoriented. She followed Vilkas through the keep, having no sense of where they had been and where they had yet to go.

The rooms all looked the same. _Haven’t I already slain you?_ It made no difference to her blade. She killed them all. Her blood raged, the beast in her chest awake and savage.

Her bloodlust was matched in Vilkas. He too was tireless in his assault. No Silver Hand stood before him and lived. In his rage he only took a few blows, and did not feel the ones he did. Cold fury burned in his eyes.

Another room. More foes. Gore was dripping from her greatsword, flying off the blade in dark red droplets as it swung. Many of the Silver Hand did not wear proper armor, Kjolti noted hazily. _Doesn’t matter. Just makes them easier to kill._

Someone pulled a chain to drop iron bars before them. Kjolti wasn’t sure if she had pulled it or Vilkas, their movements were so synced. They fought like matched blades, each motion complemented by the other’s.

They rushed down the stairs and into the next room as one raging force. These Silver Hand were ready for them, having heard the commotion they made plowing downward. Vilkas and Kjolti fought berserkly, hardly conscious of more than the steel in their hand and enemy before them.

They were suddenly surrounded. A larger force had been waiting there. Vilkas and Kjolti placed themselves back to back, a more defensible position. The bloodshed continued. Despite being outnumbered, they held their ground. Steel clashed and armor broke. Shields shattered and blood spilled. Bodies piled before them, on either side of a matched storm of steel and blood.

And finally, there were no more.

Kjolti panted. Vilkas panted. They looked around, almost wishing for more to emerge. Their need for vengeance felt unquenchable.

But no foe approached. Dozens of dead lie before them and along their path through the keep.

The Silver Hand had been eradicated.

Kjolti sheathed her blade, and Vilkas did the same as he turned to her. He stood close to her, close enough she could feel his breath, still hastened from the heat of the battle. There was a look in his eyes she couldn’t name.

“Gods, you’re incredible, you know that?” Vilkas said as he reached out, wrapped his fingers in her hair, and pulled her face to his.

The kiss caught Kjolti completely off guard.

Her mind reeled, still not totally stable since her daze.Kjolti felt heat radiating off of him. Her beast blood allowed her to smell the pheromones he exuded in his musk. She lingered in the kiss, lost in the haze.

And then she found herself.

Kjolti pulled back and punched Vilkas in the jaw.

He inhaled sharply as her fist cracked across his face. Kjolti snorted, fire still raging inside her.

“I deserved that.” He looked at the ground.

“Aye.” Kjolti was also avoiding eye contact. She wished she could avoid the unwelcome stew of emotions inside her as easily.

“Forgive me, Shield-Sister. I should not have done that. It is not honorable to steal intimacy. I apologize.”

Kjolti steeled herself, both as a display and to quell the tide inside her. “Let us not speak of it.”

“I just got carried away,” Vilkas said, having regained the courage to look at her. “You’re such a vision. A warrior worthy of Talos with the beauty of Dibella. You’re divine.”

“I said drop it.”

He finally met her gaze. “I apologize for not asking your permission, but I’ll not apologize for the intent behind it.”

A storm raged in Kjolti’s eyes. “I said drop it, Vilkas! We’ve both made our feelings clear. Leave me be!”

Vilkas raised his hands in defense. “Fine, fine! But if you change your mind, you’re always welcome in my bed.” A playful smirk had returned to his face, but his eyes were apologetic.

_He’s trying to go back to how things were. This is him pretending it didn’t happen._

“Fuck off.” Kjolti’s voice had relinquished its edge a little, and the tone had returned to that of their usual banter. She hoped Vilkas would recognize it as acceptance. Kjolti looked around the room. “The shards,” she said as she nodded toward a table.

Vilkas motioned for her to gather them. Kjolti scooped them up, focusing on the simple motions. _One step. Another step. Reach out. Pick up the shards. Don’t think about your feelings. Put the shards into your pack. Don’t think about your feelings._

***

The ride back was silent. Vilkas halfheartedly tried to make conversation, but Kjolti didn’t hear. Or she chose to ignore him. He wasn’t sure which, and he didn’t press.

Kjolti had donned her helm to block her expressions from Vilkas.

_That was my first kiss since Brynjolf._

Even thinking his name brought pain. Kjolti’s lip trembled, and she was grateful her face was hidden.

_Its been over a year already?_ Kjolti was shocked by the passing of time. Kjolti sniffed as quietly as she could as tears streamed down her face.

Grief, guilt, shame, and curiosity stormed inside her. How could she? Even the memory of the kiss felt like a betrayal. It was her fault that Bryn died and here she was, kissing another man.

_Okay, I didn’t exactly kiss him. He kissed me. And there’s a difference._

Deep down inside, there was a part of her that enjoyed the kiss. And that made her tumultuous shame rise even more violently. The dragon in her chest coiled tightly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting COMPLICATED now! Mondays will be my regular posting days, may occasionally give ya a bonus on Fridays.
> 
> Leave me a kudos or a comment if you liked what you read! Hop on over and say hi on Tumblr, I'm @DaedricLorde.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Parody of Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While recovering the Glenmoril Witch heads, Aela confronts Kjolti about her relationship with Farkas.

Kjolti crept along the dark, earthen corridor. She could faintly hear Aela’s footsteps behind her, quiet as they were. The pair were hunters, skilled at moving undetected.

She took a breath in. The scent of blood wafted in her nose from the gore dripping from her drawn greatsword. She heard Aela notch an arrow on her bow, could practically feel the tension in the string.

They continued onward. There was light flickering in the cavern ahead. _Another one of those braziers._ Kjolti was grateful the Glenmoril witches seemed to have some trouble seeing in the darkness.

The tunnel opened up to a larger cavern, and the hunters stopped short of the doorway. Each took a side of the hall, peering inside.

A hunched, gaunt, pale figure crept in the back. A very large spider splashed in the shallow pool in the center of the room.

The women looked around, observing their surroundings. Plenty of pillars for cover. Enough light to see, not quite enough to be seen. Conditions were good.

Kjolti looked at Aela and flashed her a hand signal. The huntress nodded, and took careful aim at the hagraven.

Creeping along the side of the cavern, Kjolti held her breath. She was still a good sneak, but it was much harder to remain undetected in her heavy plate armor. It had tendencies to clink and grate at the worst possible moments. Sometimes it made her long for her sleek leathers, and the stealth it provided her.

Kjolti tenuously made her way around the side of the room, grateful when she passed the spider without drawing its attention.

The hagraven shifted. Kjolti tensed.

When the witch made no further movement, Kjolti crept forward again.

She was just a few paces away. Now, thought Kjolti.

As if she had mentally commanded it, Aela released the arrow on the string and it tore into the witch’s skin. The hagraven screeched an ear splitting scream. Just as her sisters had.

Kjolti took her cue and charged forward. She brought down her bloody blade before the witch could get a spell out. The hagraven screamed again.

Another arrow tore through the air and found its target. This time the hagraven was more prepared, and blasted Kjolti with fire. Kjolti cringed, drawing up her sword for another blow. She was now very grateful for the steel armor, as it gave little for flame to cling to.

The Hagraven screeched again and was about to release more flames. But Kjolti had raised her sword again and was poised to attack. With a vicious battle cry, Kjolti plunged her greatsword into the witch, grimacing as it struck bone.

One last screech escaped the lips of the witch, and then it cried out no more. Kjolti looked around, and found that Aela had dispatched the spider with a single arrow.

Kjolti looked down at the dead witch before her. Aela joined her. The flame haired huntress returned her bow to her back and reached down to grab the hair of the witch, shifting the body so that the neck was exposed. Aela nodded to Kjolti.

She drew up her greatsword once more, and brought it down upon the neck of the last Glenmoril witch. The slice removed the head cleanly, and blood spilled out of the wound.

Aela put the head in the specially treated bag they had been given for this task, and closed it quickly. While the bag kept its contents from decaying too quickly, the smell inside was not a pleasant one. She rose and the pair began to walk out of the cavern, back through the tunnel they had come in.

Kjolti exhaled long and slow. “Its done. They will harm us no more.”

Aela nodded gravely. “Now, we can fulfill the old man’s last wishes. I feel… I feel a little relieved already.”

“As do I. Though I’ll feel better once I know his soul is in Sovngarde.”

The pair wound their way to the front of the winding series of caves. The products of their destruction littered the path.

Nearly to the entrance, Aela cast a sidelong glance at Kjolti. “You’re a keen hunter, Kjolti.”

Kjolti blinked. “Thank you, Aela…you taught me well.”

Aela nodded stiffly. “And an intelligent woman as well. You have good instincts, and observe your surroundings.”

Kjolti smirked. “Aela, I’m flattered, but what would Skjor say?”

“Do you love Farkas?”

Kjolti tripped on a root and fell. “That’s what Skjor would say?” She spat the words out indignantly, along with a mouthful of dirt.

“It’s what I’m asking. Do you?”

“Do I what?” Kjolti pushed herself up from the ground.

“Do you love Farkas, Kjolti?”

“Why would you ask something like that?”

Aela stopped. “Because, he is head over heels in love with you. Has been since the day you arrived on Jorrvaskr’s doorstep.”

Kjolti brushed dirt off her armor. “What makes you say that?”

Aela crossed her arms. “Don’t play dumb with me, Kjolti. You know it to be true. Reflect on your time with him and try to tell me it isn’t true.”

Kjolti was silent for a long while. “What do you have to do with it?”

“He loves you, but I think he won’t ever find the courage to tell you. I don’t want to see him lose himself in pursuit of you. So, I ask again. Do you love him?”

“I…It’s not a yes or no question. This isn’t black or white.”

Aela leaned forward. “Why not?”

“Because life is more complicated than that, and you know it!”

“Does it have to be?”She raised an eyebrow.

Kjolti cocked her head, pleading. “Aela,” she chastised.

“You’re not answering me.” The huntress’s green eyes were piercing.

The raven haired woman didn’t waver under Aela’s intense gaze. “I shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m asking you to.” Her stare was relentless.

Kjolti sighed, and thought for a moment. “I care deeply for Farkas.” Her voice was softer than before. “I would have faded to dust long ago if it weren’t for him. I,” she searched for the right words, “I value his companionship dearly.” Her voice faded.

Aela’s eyes grew cold. “So you don’t love him.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Oh, but you did.”

“Aela, you’re not being fair to me.”

“And you’re not being fair to Farkas! He doesn’t deserve to be strung along.”

Kjolti opened her arms wide. “I’m not stringing him along!”

“No? Have you seen the way he looks at you? How about the way he’ll do literally anything for you?”

Kjolti looked away. “Farkas makes his own choices. I don’t force him to do anything.”

Aela’s eyes narrowed. “That’s manipulative. You’re taking advantage of him.”

“Aela! Where is this coming from?” Shock and indignity filled her voice.

“I care about Farkas!” Aela enunciated her words clearly. “I watch him grieve anytime you leave without him. I watch him drink himself into Oblivion every time you talk with Vilkas. He’s my brother, and it hurts me to see him hurt.”

“I am not responsible for that! I didn’t ask for this, or tell him to love me!”

“But he does love you, Kjolti.”

“And so what, just because he loves me I should just love him back?”

“Would that be so bad? Would that be such a bad life?”

“Mara’s tits, it’s not that simple, Aela!” Kjolti cursed, stomping away.

“Why not?” Aela shouted. Her voice rang through the tunnels.

“For fuck’s sake! I don’t even love myself, Aela!” The words echoed uncomfortably in the cavern. Kjolti’s breath was quickened. “I don’t love anymore. Not anyone, not anything. Nothing makes me feel that way anymore. Farkas and I shift and go to the plains, and I feel _something_ in my chest, but its just a parody of passion. Its not love, even I know that.”

Aela was silent.

“I— you have to understand Aela, I lived a whole life before I came to The Companions.”

“We never expected any different.” Her words were restrained.

“I had—I had a _very_ different life. A full one.”

Aela caught her meaning and raised an eyebrow. “A full life, with people you loved? With someone you loved?”

Kjolti closed her eyes and nodded, her lashes damp with restrained tears.

“We all were different people before entering the halls of Jorrvaskr.” Aela trained her green eyes on Kjolti. “But we are Companions now, regardless of who we were before. And its the now that matters.”

Kjolti nodded. “The now, and the future.”

Aela raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

Kjolti shook her head. “Nothing.” She was distant for a while. “Will you drop this now, Aela? Leave me be about Farkas?”

Aela stared long and hard before answering. “Fine. But you need to address this with Farkas. He deserves that much from you.”

Kjolti swallowed. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Aela is a 'take no shit, suffer no fools' kinda gal. She loves her friends, and she loves hard. 
> 
> If you liked what you read, let me know with a kudos or a comment! For more nerd shit about Aerisif/Kjolti, find me over on Tumblr @DaedricLorde.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Is It True?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Kjolti and Aela return from their mission, it becomes clear that something is very wrong. Can they save Farkas? And will Kjolti be able to face the truth?

A tension hung between them the rest of the journey home. It was dusk when Whiterun came into view across the plains, the keep looming in the distance.

“We’ll be back in time for a meal,” Kjolti said longingly. A hot meal and cold mead was sorely needed after their journey.

“I’ll be glad to sleep in my own bed tonight,” Aela replied, breaking her silence. The women looked at each other meaningfully; all was forgiven.

Kjolti smiled. “I can practically smell Tilma’s cooking from here!”

Aela laughed and breathed in deep. “Smells like roast and—“ she stopped short, frowned, and sniffed again.

“Roast what? Elk, I hope,” Kjolti joked.

“Shut up.” Aela sniffed again.

“Fine, boar, whichever.”

“I said shut up! Can you smell that?”

Kjolti closed her eyes and breathed in deep. There was a vaguely familiar scent on the air.

“One of our brothers is out here.” She sniffed again. “It’s Farkas, but something’s off,” she said tenuously.

Aela looked concerned. “I think we ought to hurry.” The was more unsaid in her eyes.

The pair hastened through the plains. Kjolti’s heartbeat quickened.What was Farkas doing? He never hunted alone these days, not without her. What changed?

Aela sniffed again. Kjolti followed suit. They exchanged a glance and Aela opened her mouth to speak when the silence was broken by a wild howl.

It chilled both of them, sending shivers down their spines. A cold wind battered them, bringing an undeniable scent with it.

Frozen momentarily, Kjolti was the first to bring it to words.

“He’s going feral.”

Only a heartbeat passed before Aela and Kjolti took off running toward the sound and scent of their shield-brother. Another howl sounded, this one more wild than the last. It was a distinction only a werewolf could hear, but they knew the difference well.

_No no no,_ Kjolti’s mind raced. _No, Farkas, not now. You can’t. Wait for me, wait._

Another five agonizing moments passed before they saw his form in the distance.He was annihilating a deer with a single swipe of a claw.

Aela transformed. So comfortable was she in her beast form, that it only took her a heartbeat to shift her skin.

“Be careful, Aela!” Kjolti called. She would not shift. She needed to be human to bring Farkas back.

Aela arrived to Farkas in a few impossibly long bounds. He did not recognize her, and turned to face off with her. Kjolti spat an oath. This was bad.

Kjolti was grateful that Aela was such a strong werewolf. She had taken the blood so long ago that it flowed easily through her veins, the wolf skin as natural as her human form. Aela bellowed fiercely at Farkas and circled him, dodging his attacks and dealing out several of her own. Kjolti continued to run toward them, cursing her slowness on two legs, burdened by heavy armor. But she knew she might be grateful for its protection once she got closer to Farkas.

Aela was attacking very strategically. She tried to immobilize him, by attacking his legs first. She avoided the major veins and arteries. Kjolti quickly understood her intent. Aela was wearing him out, slowing him down. Trying to weaken him, but not critically injure him.

It wasn’t working very well. So close to going feral, Farkas had gone berserk. He seemed not to feel or notice the blows Aela dealt, as serious as many of them were. Kjolti breathed in, smelling the wildness in his scent. She ran faster, sweat coating her skin.

It seemed like an eternity before she got there. Aela continued to circle and distract Farkas, trying to wear him out. But Kjolti’s arrival caught his attention, and Farkas turned and unleashed a menacing snarl at the easy prey that had wandered to him. Aela was too far away to intercept.

Farkas lunged toward Kjolti. Fear seized her. She had seen Farkas fight in his beast form, was accustomed to his ferocity, but it had never been directed at her before.

His long claws reached out and raked her across her midsection.

Kjolti thudded to the ground, hard. Blood filled her mouth.

Aela reached Farkas and tackled him, grappling with him for a long while.

Kjolti looked down. Her armor was rent open, but it had stopped his deadly claws from ripping her apart. Such a blow would have killed her quickly. Even so, she felt as if several of her ribs were bruised, if not broken.

She pushed herself up, spitting out blood and cursing.

Farkas flung Aela from him, and she shot backwards with a whimper.

_This is not good._

“Farkas!”

His ears flattened.

“Farkas! It’s me! Kjolti!”

He turned to face her, savagery in his eyes.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled her helmet off. _This might be very stupid._

She shook her hair out. “It’s me, Farkas. Your friend Kjolti. Your shield-sister.”

Farkas snarled and stalked toward her.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Kjolti muttered under her breath, panicking. “Farkas. Come back to us.”

Aela attacked him from behind. He shoved her off again, and continued to creep closer to Kjolti.

“It’s me,” She opened her arms wide. “You know me.”

Something in his eyes flickered.

“It’s okay, Farkas.”

He growled low. Kjolti gathered her nerve and jumped toward him, surprising them both.

She grabbed his face in her hands, massive as it was. He snapped at her. Kjolti pulled back, nearly in enough time. His teeth grazed the tip of her nose, slicing the skin open and releasing a trickle of blood.

Her eyes watered in that annoying way when one gets hit on the nose, but she maintained her grip.

“Farkas,” she cooed softly. She ruffled his ears. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “I need you.” Praying it wouldn’t be the last thing she did, Kjolti pressed her forehead to his.

Her skin met course fur.

A few heavy breaths filled the air.

His scent changed, his muscles relaxed. Kjolti released him and stepped back as Farkas became human again.

Aela dropped her beast form and walked over to him. Farkas was shaking in a cold sweat. He was staring at Kjolti intensely. She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t parse it for the emotions within. But she felt the raw power of the look, and didn’t like what she felt.

Aela knelt and wrapped her arms around Farkas, still shivering. Kjolti stepped back. She fetched a blanket from her pack and handed it to Aela, who pulled it over Farkas.

They sat like that for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Farkas blinked, seeming to be present again.

Aela looked at him sympathetically. “Let’s go home, brother.”

He said nothing, but nodded.

The three began to journey to Whiterun. The sun had set, and the cool night air chilled them. Kjolti reached out to touch Farkas’s arm, but he flinched back from her touch.

_Something isn’t right._

Kjolti looked over to Aela, who had seen the exchange. She shrugged, but it was clear that she could tell something was off.

They finished the walk in silence. It didn’t feel right to ask Farkas what happened, not yet. They were just glad to get him home, alive and human.

Aela and Kjolti helped him downstairs and began guiding him to his room when Farkas finally spoke.

“I can make it myself from here,” he said gruffly.

Aela gave him an appraising look. “You know where to find me if you need me.” Worry filled her voice.

Farkas nodded in response. Aela glanced at Kjolti with a loaded look, and walked away.

Kjolti hesitated, then followed suit and headed to her room.

“Kjolti,” Farkas murmured. She stopped and turned to him.

“Did I hurt you?” Though fully human, there was a strangeness in his eyes.

“No, Farkas, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out.

She gave a half hearted smile. “It’s just a scratch.”

He nodded. “Kjolti?”

“Farkas?” She smiled.

“Is is true?”

“Is what true?”

His brown eyes bore into her. “Did you and Vilkas kiss? Are you the Dragonborn?”

Kjolti felt like all her blood drained from her veins. Farkas’s stare was relentless.

_Be honest._

She closed her eyes. “Yes. And yes.” She opened her eyes.

Farkas looked fifty years older, his face gaunt and worn. He said nothing, didn’t so much as look at her. He just turned to his room, shuffled inside, and shut the door.

Kjolti felt her cheeks flush in shame. She entered her room, closed and locked the door, and sat on her bed. The dragon in her chest was clawing at her insides, and the tears that she had been holding back for hours finally spilled down her cheeks.

***

She awoke hours later to pounding at her door. Kjolti moaned and rolled over. The shouting continued.“Kjolti! Get up!”

Spewing all sorts of profanities, Kjolti rose, flicked the lock off and threw open the door.

“What in all the divines’ names do you want?” she growled.

Eorland stood before her, holding Wuthraad. Now faced with a very disheveled Kjolti, the old man turned sheepish.

“Um. It’s time.”

Kjolti was disgruntled. “Time for what?”

Eorland thrust Wuthraad into her hands. “The others are waiting for you upstairs. You’re going to the tomb of Ysgramor. To cure Kodlak.”

Kjolti blinked and looked down at the reforged great axe in her hands. “The others?”

Eorland started to walk away, and called over his shoulder. “Yeah, you know. The youngins. You, Aela. Vilkas, Farkas. Only makes sense, you’re the strength of the Companions, and you all get along so well.”

Kjolti swallowed, the events of the previous night solidifying into a solid rock in her stomach. “Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In my very best Dungeon Master voice**  
> "Actions have consequences!"
> 
> Poor Kjolti, poor Farkas!
> 
> Leave a comment or a kudos if you liked what you read! Find me on Tumblr @DaedricLorde for more nerd shit.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	6. Till The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kjolti, Aela, Farkas, and Vilkas make their way to Ysgramor's Tomb to attempt to free Kodlak's spirit. With some of Kjolti's secrets now revealed, the journey is an uncomfortable one.

It took most of the day for the four of them to ride north to the tomb. They rode in an uncomfortable silence. Farkas rode ahead, not wanting to speak to any of them. Kjolti rode behind, wallowing in her shame. Vilkas and Aela rode in the middle. They tried for a while to make conversation, but any attempts at drawing Farkas or Kjolti into their chatter failed monosyllabically. Vilkas even tried singing, but he only got a few notes into “99 bottles of mead in the hall” before Kjolti, Aela, and Farkas buried him in curses and vulgarities.

Silence overtook the party.

Kjolti held Wuthraad in her hands as she rode. She looked down at it, examining the legendary weapon closely. Eorland had done an exquisite job reforging the blade; she couldn’t even find seams along the reassembled shards. There was a certain power emanating from the blade, though it didn’t feel like an enchantment to her.

Her eyes drifted up from the shaft to the double edged blade. She ran her fingers over the ornate engravings, trying to make sense of them. She gasped when she realized what they were.

Tucked between two harbingers of death, the visage of an elf was engraved in the very center of the blade. Its eyes were wide and fearful, its mouth agape. Not only was this clearly a depiction of an elf about to die, slaughtered at the hands of Ysgramor, but it was a caricature, its features exaggerated to comical effect.

Sickened, Kjolti sheathed Wuthraad. She did not want to wield this blade.

She closed her eyes and trusted her horse to follow those in front.

_Vilkas told Farkas everything._

Kjolti wanted to be filled with rage. She wanted to scream and shout and rip into Vilkas.

But she didn’t have the fire for it.

Instead, she just felt that same consuming emptiness that she had felt after Brynjolf died.

They reached the northern coast as darkness fell. Rather than try to cross the deadly waters at night, they decided to make camp and enter the tomb in the morning. All four set about making a safe camp. Farkas found them an alcove against the icy cliff side, easily defendable.

A meal was eaten in deafening silence.

As the fire dwindled down, Vilkas stood and stretched exaggeratedly. “Well, I’m calling it a night,” he said too loudly. “I’ll just be in my tent…over there…” Kjolti felt him looking at her, and she glared at the snow under her boots even harder.

Vilkas stood there for a moment, and when it became clear that no one was going to join him, he turned and left.

Aela looked at Kjolti, then at Farkas. Both were staring at the ice like their gaze could melt it. She threw the scraps of her meal into the fire, and muttered that she was going to bed too. Kjolti glanced up. Aela jerked her head toward where Farkas was sitting. He had volunteered for first watch. Kjolti nodded, and Aela padded off to her tent.

Silence fell once more.

“Farkas,” Kjolti started.

He glared at her across the fire.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I really am.”

Farkas straightened and intensified his glare. “Tell me what?”

Kjolti shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “That I’m the Dragonborn.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…” she trailed off. The truth was she wasn’t sure herself. “I just…” She sighed. “I’m not ready to be the Dragonborn. I can’t bear it. I’m not ready to, not worthy to. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to be anyone or anything. I can just…be. And I liked it that way. I didn’t want it to change. I am sorry, Farkas.”

He looked away as he processed her words. “But you told him.”

“Only because we were attacked by a dragon when we were sent to Dawnstar. I didn’t so much tell him, as he found out.”

“I see.” he stared off into the dying fire. “But you could have told me then.”

“I didn’t want anything to change.”

“Why would anything have to change? You’re still Kjolti. Just with some extra responsibilities. I could even help.”

She stared at him. “But things have changed, haven’t they, Farkas?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” he sputtered defensively.

“Why did you want to know if Vilkas and I had kissed? Why would you care?”

Before he could open his mouth to respond, an awful screech cut through the air.

Kjolti sucked in her breath and reached for her blade. Farkas jumped up and did the same.

_Will I ever fight one of these damned things in the daylight?_

The ground shook in an all too familiar way, and a blinding flash of fire broke the darkness nearby.

“Companions! Rise, and fight!”

***

Truly, a dragon had little chance facing off against four Companions with fire in their veins and a collective patience that could fit in a thimble. Vilkas and Aela were out of their tents in a flash, weapons at the ready. Farkas and Aela, who had not seen a dragon in the flesh before, only took a moment of shock and fear before attacking the beast.

Vilkas, Farkas, and Kjolti all fell upon the dragon with their behemoth blades while Aela showered it with arrows. Kjolti cursed with disgust as she found she had drawn Wuthraad, instead of her own sword. Already upon the dragon, she had no time to change weapons, and swung viciously with the famed axe.

Faced with four foes, who had fanned themselves out, the dragon had trouble picking its targets. If it began to breathe fire at one, the others began to hack at it from all sides, and the two legs were surprisingly fast for ones with no wings. Plus, small piercing projectiles kept raining down on its scales, and often punched through its wings. It roared in anger and frustration.

Blades sliced through the air and sunk into scale. The dragon’s club-like tail bludgeoned those that wandered too close to its rear. Aela released arrow after arrow with uncanny accuracy.

In the darkness, the snow and ice appeared black as it became saturated with blood. One of the twins cried out. Kjolti saw Aela in the distance by the light of the fire that singed her. The fierce huntress grimaced and gritted her teeth, but did not relent in her attack. Kjolti found herself knocked on the ground several paces back from the dragon, sent there from the force of a deadly claw. She gasped and strained to get the wind back in her lungs, her ribs screaming in pain. They had not recovered from the beating they took the day before from Farkas.

Kjolti rose to her feet. The dragon had that desperate, wild look in its eye. The kind of look a beast has when it knows it is dying, but will not stop fighting. Kjolti knew it well.

Raising Wuthraad and unleashing a primal cry, Kjolti charged forward and dropped the axe into the neck of the dragon. It was enough.

The life drained from the monstrous form before her. It screamed out its last breath, a challenge even in the face of death, and grew still at her feet.

Kjolti felt her blood pulse, heard it rush in her ears. The dragon in her chest was thrashing about, craving the dragon soul like an addict craves skooma. Her body seemed to fall in with an ancient beat heard only by her.

She stood in front of the fallen dragon, eyes closed. Its soul began to rise from its body, swirling with unspent energy. The night was ignited with hues of purple and orange. Kjolti’s eyes burst open as she breathed in the spirit.

Farkas, who was watching this wide-eyed as a child would, thought for just a moment he saw Kjolti’s eyes flash blood red against her shadowed silhouette. But they returned to normal not a heartbeat later, and he knew it must have been a trick of the light.

The soul settled within her and darkness once again fell upon the northern shore. Kjolti blinked for a few moments, and then she looked around.

“Is anyone hurt?”

Vilkas was leaning against the icy cliff, favoring his left leg. Farkas had blood smeared across his face, and Kjolti didn’t know if it was his or the dragon’s. Aela’s skin was pink where the fire had nearly scorched her skin. She felt her own ribs burning from the abuse they had taken.

“Nothing we can’t handle, Dragonborn,” Vilkas said softly.

“I said don’t call me that!” Kjolti snapped. She looked back to Aela, the only member of their party who had not known. “Aela, I—“

Aela waved her hand. “I figured it out a long time ago, Kjolti.”

Kjolti was taken aback. “Does _everyone_ know??”

“Just us. We’re with you, Kjolti. Till the end,” Aela said in her steady voice.

Kjolti looked around at her battered friends. “Right.” Fighting back tears, she gingerly walked to her tent. “I’m going to sleep.”

When she finally fell asleep, she was tormented with nightmares of her friends falling in battle with Alduin, torn asunder by his claws and words. She woke with a start, gasping and panting. She crawled out of her tent.

Farkas was sitting alone in front of the rekindled fire, keeping watch just as he had promised before the attack.

Kjolti walked over and sat next to him. He turned and looked at her. They locked eyes for just a moment, before Kjolti collapsed onto his shoulder and wept. Farkas placed a comforting arm around her and held her close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Kjolti is *trying* to do the right thing with Farkas.
> 
> Have you ever looked closely at Wuthraad? The design on it always sickens me, along with the rest of the racism in the game, so I let that out through Kjolti.
> 
> More Aerisif/Kjolti stuff over on Tumblr @Daedriclorde. If you liked what you read, let me know with a comment or a kudos!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Slain Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kjolti and Co. have arrived at the Tomb of Ysgramor. Inside, they have to wrestle with ghosts, guilt, and other unwelcome emotions.

The four Companions stood before the tomb door. None wanted to be the first to enter. There was something about this place, a sacred stillness that exuded from it. They had felt it as they descended into the barrow, the sunlight reflecting off the snow in stark contrast to their mood.

Finally Vilkas stepped forward, inhaling sharply. He hesitated for a moment at the door, and then pushed it open. The rest followed him within.

It took them all a moment for their eyes to adjust. The interior was dark and cool, and the air was still. Undisturbed, until they disturbed it. It was an eerie feeling.

They filed into the main chamber, where a large statue of Ysgramor towered over them on a raised dais. Their demeanor was somber as they took in the sight. Ysgramor was poised for battle, but empty handed. It struck Kjolti how curious one looks without their weapon.

She stepped forward and climbed tentatively onto the platform. Aela sucked in her breath, cautious and alert. Kjolti withdrew Wuthraad and gingerly placed it into the hands of the statue. She sighed with relief as the legendary weapon nestled itself into the grasp of the statue, back with its rightful owner.

As she stepped back, a loud grinding sound overtook the chamber. All four looked around in alarm for the sound. They traced it source to the end of one of the corridors leading away from the main chamber, and saw the slight change in light as a door was opened at its end.

Another moment of silence took over as the grinding stopped.

“This is the final resting place of Ysgramor. And his most trusted generals. You should be cautious.” Vilkas broke the stillness.

They all turned to him. “Why, brother? It is just a tomb.” Farkas looked at his twin strangely.

“What do you suppose we need to be cautious of?” Aela was stringing an arrow.

“The Original Companions. Their finest warriors rest with Ysgramor. I read it in a book. You’ll have to prove yourselves to them. It’s not that you’re intruding. I’d wager they’re actually expecting us. They just want to be sure that you’re worthy. Be ready for an honorable battle.” Vilkas spoke in broken sentences, his eyes shifting.

“Aren’t you coming with?” Kjolti asked.

“I am not,” he hung his head. “I am not worthy to enter.”

“Not worthy to enter?” Farkas cursed and stomped away.

“What do you mean?” Kjolti eyed him suspiciously.

Vilkas sat down on the edge of the dais resting his elbows on his knees. “Kodlak was right. I let vengeance rule my heart.” He looked up at her with an intensity that made her heart lurch. “I regret nothing of what we did at Driftshade, Kjolti.” She felt her cheeks flush. “But I can’t go any further with my mind fogged or my heart grieved.” He hung his head. “Say hi to Kodlak for me.”

Silence overtook the chamber once more.

Aela was the first to break it. “For Kodlak, then!”

Grasping onto anything, Farkas and Kjolti echoed her call. “For Kodlak!” And they charged onward. Kjolti hesitated and looked back to Vilkas. His eyes were sad, but he feigned a smile and encouraged her on with a nod.

They had barely made it through the doorway before they faced the ghosts. Spectral forms of the Original Companions, Ysgramor’s famed Five Hundred, rushed forward to test the mettle of the living.

Kjolti and Farkas were ready for them, steel drawn. Aela loosed the arrow she’d had nocked for some time.

The chamber rang with battle cries of the living and the dead, echoed with ringing steel and twanging bowstring. Kjolti was struck by a ghostly sword and was reminded of how much a spectral blade can hurt. A shimmering blue shield blocked her blows, but could not fend them off forever. The din of battle quieted. They had passed this test.

Kjolti led them onward, through a large door at the other end of the chamber. This time they managed to strike first against the Original Companions. They gathered their forces and nearly overpowered the three living Companions. Aela’s precise aim saved them.

They paused to catch their breath here. Kjolti’s blood was rushing, her breath quickened. Farkas was breathing heavily too. Kjolti wondered for a moment if he was going to shift, if she ought to as well. She shook the thought from her head. _We’re here to cure lyncanthropy, not encourage it._

After a healing potion made its way around the group, they gathered themselves up and moved down the stairs into the next room. There were more of them here. Kjolti felt her body ache and burn as she deflected and dealt blow after blow. She grit her teeth as she locked blades with one ancient warrior. Just as she felt she would be overtaken, the spectral Companion dissipated as one of Aela’s arrows struck.

Farkas cried out as he was struck by a ghostly arrows. Kjolti traced it to its source, a spectral archer circling the exterior of the room. She rushed at it, surging as she approaching and released a wave of energy as she thrust her sword into its translucent form. It disintegrated.

Kjolti whirled and raced back toward the heat of the battle. Motion caught the corner of her eye, and saw a ghostly Companion chasing down Aela. Kjolti lunged toward her. Kjolti managed to scrape the tip of her blade into the form of the ghost, drawing its attention while Aela found a defensible position to provide cover.

The ghost was a fearsome opponent, striking at Kjolti nearly as much as she struck it. But the force of the living was to much for the dead to bear, and it too crumbled before her.

Aela, Farkas, and Kjolti once again gathered to rest a moment before continuing. All were panting. Another healing potion was passed around.

“Gods, are all five hundred of them here?” Kjolti breathed. “These Original Companions are nothing to fuck around with.”

Aela nodded enthusiastically.

The next doorway was sealed over with spiderweb. Aela and Kjolti both glanced at Farkas. There was fear in his eyes but his jaw was set in resolve.

“I’m fine, let’s go,” he growled. He began slashing through the webbing, and Kjolti thought she detected a slight tremor in his grip.

At the first sound of mandibles Kjolti plowed ahead. Aela began loosing arrows, despite lacking a clear shot. There was a satisfying crunch as Kjolti’s sword crushed through the exoskeletal exterior of the spider, a gratifying whine as its life extinguished.

Kjolti cursed when the giant spider dropped down before her. While she wasn’t afraid of the spiders like Farkas was, they were still tough beasts to kill. She charged at it, ducking to avoid the poison it spat at her.

The giant spider gurgled and spewed. Arrows began to stick out of its shell, and Kjolti hacked at its limbs.

Her feet slid out from under her and Kjolti slammed to the ground, her sword knocked from her hands and blood filled her mouth. She cursed again, but choked on her words when she saw the spider rearing up to strike.

Farkas surged from the darkness, placing himself between the spider and Kjolti. He swung ferociously at the spider, screaming and shouting all the while. Kjolti scrambled to her feet.

By the time she had risen and collected her sword, the spider was no more than a pile of limbs and shattered shell at Farkas’s feet. His whole body was trembling visibly, his eyes closed. Kjolti walked up to him, softly placed her hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to look at her. They darted around, searching for more spiders and afraid to find them.

“Thank you,” she whispered. He nodded, still shaking.

Kjolti and Aela quietly waited for Farkas to stop shaking, Kjolti claiming she needed to catch her breath. The women were both too polite to speak aloud Farkas’s fear. They knew he was ashamed of it.

Their strength gathered, the three continued on through the tomb. Farkas, having faced his fears and survived, had newfound bravado that he used to fuel his attacks on the original companions.

Spectral companions attacked them in waves. Room after room was filled with the ancient warriors, all eager to test the strength of their descendants of honor. The trio met their blades and their challenges and surpassed them.

Finally, they pushed through a large door and saw only one ghost standing alone, next to a raging blue fire. It was Kodlak. Kjolti turned to Aela and Farkas and saw them waving her onward.

“Why me?” She asked, incredulous.

“It should be you,” Aela urged. “Go, speak with him. We’ve got your back.” Farkas nodded in agreement.

Kjolti walked forward to Kodlak.

“Greetings, Shield-Sister,” he smiled as warmly as a ghost could.

“Is it really you?” Kjolti tried to steady her voice.

“Of course. My fellow Harbingers and I have been warming ourselves here. Trying to evade Hircine.”

Kjolti looked around the room. There were no other ghosts in the chamber.

“Umm. Kodlak. There’s no one else here.” She tried her best to sound respectful but the words came out harsh anyway.

Kodlak chuckled. “You see only me because your heart knows only me as the Companions leader. I’d wager old Vignar could see half a dozen of my predecessors. And I see them all. The ones in Sovngarde. The ones trapped with me in Hircine’s realm. And they all see you. You’ve brought honor to the name of the Companions, Dragonborn. We won’t soon forget it.”

Kjolti gasped. “You know too? How? For how long?”

Kodlak smiled. “Only in death, my child. It is truly amazing, the great number of things that one can see after death. One day you too will see, Aerisif.”

She was stunned. Her blood felt like ice.

Kodlak was still smiling. “Yes, I know that name. You have nothing to fear, Daughter of Gardimor.”

Kjolti nodded, trying hard to process everything. “Is…can you see him?”

“He is in Sovngarde, child. I hope to join him soon.”

Kjolti looked down at her boots, trying to gather herself. “Vilkas said you can still be cured.”

“Did he now? And I suppose that’s him I can sense in the main chamber, sulking as a boy would, ashamed to show his face here? There is no need. He is forgiven. As for a cure, I can only hope. You still have the witches’ heads? Excellent. Throw one of them into the fire. It will release their magic, for me at least.”

Kjolti nodded absently. “Right. Well, hang on tight.”

Kodlak chuckled again. “Ah, youth. Carry on.”

Kjolti walked over to the blue flame in the center of the room. She withdrew one reeking severed head from the bag and dropped it into the flame.

With a terrible growl, a spectral, red, dire wolf emerged from Kodlak’s form and lunged for Kjolti. She dropped the bag and grasped for her sword. From behind her she could hear Farkas rushing forward and Aela stringing an arrow.

The wolf sunk its teeth into Kjolti, the bite searing cold. She bashed it on the head with the hilt of her sword and it released her with a whine. Farkas had arrived and lashed out with his sword. Kjolti collected herself and followed suit. An arrow sunk into its ghostly form.

Within minutes the three had destroyed the spectral wolf. All three approached Kodlak.

“It is done. Your beast spirit is slain.” Kjoltiwas slightly out of breath.

“And so slain the beast inside of me. I thank you for this gift. The other Harbingers remain trapped by Hircine, though. Perhaps from Sovngarde, the heroes of old can join me in their rescue. The Harrowing of the Hunting Grounds. It would be a battle of such triumph. And perhaps some day, you’ll all join us in that battle. But for today, return to Jorrvaskr. Triumph in your victory, children. May the hall praise the names Farkas, Aela, and Kjolti, heroes of the Companions.” With a twinkle in his eye and a final kind smile, Kodlak faded.

“Where did he go?” Farkas asked.

Kjolti smiled. “To Sovngarde.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that Vilkas's line "I regret nothing of what we did at Driftshade" is *actually* canon?? I wrote the kiss scene before I even knew that! Wild, right?
> 
> Anyway, drop me a kudos or a comment if you liked what you read! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	8. Like Alduin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To try to patch up their friendship, Kjolti and Farkas go hunting out on the plains. But things quickly turn for the worse out in the wilds.

Farkas clawed at the cave bear before him. The bear snapped her massive jaws and growled fiercely in return. He detected motion to his left and bounded away before the second bear could swipe at him. Farkas used his momentum to charge at the first bear, digging viciously at her thick hide.

Somewhere behind him, Kjolti grappled with a third cave bear. In the heat of battle, her midnight fur was nearly indistinguishable from the trio of cave bears they had taken on. Farkas heard her snarl and jaw at her foe.

The first bear lunged and clamped her jaws on Farkas’s arm, but he easily knocked her aside with a powerful swipe. In the span of a breath the second bear was upon him again, rising up on thick hind legs. The two beasts stared each other in the eye, their raw aggression matched in the other’s gaze.

With a _crunch_ and a _thud_ , Kjolti brought down the bear before her. In a single bound, she joined Farkas in his fray. Kjolti mauled the first bear, still lingering from Farkas’s blow, and ended her quickly. Then she spun to face the second bear with her Shield-Brother.

Farkas was impressed, and a little surprised. This was a different Kjolti than he was used to hunting with. He was well familiar with her tactics, and this hunt was different. She seemed more destructive, more cruel.

Now two against one, the cave bear fought with wild abandon. He stood tall on his hind legs once more, trying to intimidate his attackers. Farkas swiped at him but was met with a fearsome paw. Kjolti reached out with claws of her own and found the bear’s teeth snapping at her limb.

Farkas and Kjolti locked eyes for a moment.

He was frightened stiff.

Her eyes had changed.

Gone were the silver pools he had fallen in love with. Gone were the comforting eyes that dazzled with intelligence.

Instead, two pure red pupil-less eyes glowed against her midnight fur.

_Divines…_ Farkas took a step back.

Kjolti was a vision of destruction and anguish. She wasn’t feral, that much he knew. Her scent hadn’t changed. There was an evilness to her eyes, Farkas could see it clearly now, but they maintained her intelligence. And that combination terrified him.

The changed Kjolti lashed out at the bear, blood and gore flinging from her claws and dripping from her jaws. She snarled savagely, and leapt forward to maul the bear.

The bear was overwhelmed. As fear locked its wild eyes, the cave bear desperately lunged for Kjolti’s arm.

The bear locked its muscled jaw onto Kjolti. The mauling had left it too weak, it had lost too much blood. Even as its life extinguished, the bear exhausted its final energies into death gripping its opponent’s arm. The bear stumbled back, dragging Kjolti with him.

But as the dying bear fell, it found no ground to support its weight. Its heavy paws found only crumbling rocks and empty air.

Both bear and werewolf fell over the edge of the cliff. Kjolti’s sinister red eyes widened in shock as she realized what was happening. Farkas lunged, but was helpless to stop his Shield-Sister from tumbling over the edge.

It only took a second to feel the reverberating _thud_ as bear and werewolf hit the ground below.

***

Farkas panted heavily as he shook the beast form from his consciousness. He look around wildly, trying to secure himself in his surroundings.

_Kjolti!_ He slid to the edge of the cliff and looked over.

The massive bear they brought down lay sprawled in the dirt. Next to him lay Kjolti, now returned to her human form as well. Both were motionless.

_No, no, no_. He nearly leapt over the cliff himself, but slowed his large frame down enough to find the strongest footholds and sturdiest boulders to support him while he slid down the rocky face.

Clouds of dust puffed around his feet as he jumped the final length. Farkas ran the few paces over to where Kjolti lay. Nothing was visibly broken, but the arm the bear had latched onto was mangled and bloodied. She lay still, no trace of the evilness that had prevailed in her beast form remaining. Farkas’s heart pounded in his chest.

Gingerly, Farkas placed two fingers on her neck. _How does her skin always feel so soft?_ Farkas’s skin always felt dry and dirty. He held his breath, searching her neck for signs a life.

A pulse. Farkas sighed with relief as he felt Kjolti’s pulse, still pushing her life’s blood through her veins. Ever so gently, Farkas slid his thick arms under Kjolti’s limp frame. Even in full armor, he was able to lift her effortlessly.

With his Shield-Sister draped in his arms, Farkas carefully walked to the camp they had set when they were stalking the bears. Still holding Kjolti, he sat down with his back to the rocky cliff. It was a good, defensible position.

He cupped her head in his hand and felt the familiar warm, sticky feeling of blood. His heart began to pound again. Farkas tried not to tangle her shiny black hair with his fingers as he searched for the wound.

_Its not deep_. He sighed once more. Farkas carefully reached for the water skin, moving slowly to not jostle Kjolti. He soaked a clean cloth in water. Farkas cradled Kjolti, trying his best to ignore the warm sensations in his chest as he held her close to him. She let out a soft sigh as he embraced her. Farkas felt his throat constrict and thought his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

Gently, he dabbed at the wound, wiping away the blood. Her black hair was tangled and sweaty, but Farkas found beauty in it just the same.

Once he was confident he had cleaned the wound, Farkas held the cloth to her head to stem the bleeding. A shallow wound like that was not threatening, but Kjolti had not yet woken. He turned his attention next to her arm wound. Patiently, he cleaned it out as best he could. While it bleed intensely, it looked to him that most of the sinew was intact. She would be unable to wield her blade for a while, but he reckoned she would still be able to use her arm. Farkas took more of the cotton and wound it as tight as he dared around her arm.

Tenderly, Farkas pushed a stray strand of raven hair out of Kjolti’s face. He was perplexed. Here was the Kjolti he’d known for more than a year, the comforting presence he’d grown used to. But that darkness that he saw in her was etched in his memory.

And the image of her kissing Vilkas was etched there too. He couldn’t stop torturing himself, picturing the scenario in more and more passionate ways. Even though Kjolti had explained it to him, confirmed that it was Vilkas who had kissed her and she promptly punched him for it, Farkas’s imagination still toyed with the image. It still broke him.

_Black with red eyes._ Her altered beast form lingered in his mind. _Just like Alduin._ His heart sank. Farkas knew the legends, of course, he and Vilkas had been raised on them. And he’d listened intensely to Kjolti’s account of Helgen. She had detailed it for him on their journey here. He could practically visualize the great beast staring down as she’d described, with ebony scales and glowing blood red eyes.

And yet, here she was, seemingly untouched by the darkness. Farkas lovingly stroked her soaked hair. He was as enamored with her now as he was the first day he met her.

“Kjolti,” he whispered. “I’ve got you Kjolti, you’re safe. I’m protecting you.” He softly brushed the stubborn strand of hair away again. “I will always protect you.”

Pulling his heartstrings along with her, Kjolti stirred a little in his arms. Absently, she wrapped her arm through his as she nestled against his chest and curled up to him. But it was the next sound he heard that struck him the most.

“Farkas,” she mumbled.

He sat there, eyes locked and mouth agape. _Are you awake after all? Can you hear me?_ He was terrified at the idea.

Farkas looked down at Kjolti. Her face looked so peaceful, so calm. _I will keep you safe. I will protect you._ He felt his heart leap and pound at the thought of being her protector. _I would follow you to the ends of the world. I would destroy the World-Eater for you._

He wasn’t sure how long they remained like that, with Kjolti nestled safely against him. But Farkas knew it was probably too long.

When Kjolti had suggested this hunt, a gesture to patch things up, Farkas had jumped at the opportunity to spend time with her. In all the scenarios he had pictured, none ended like this. And in none of them did Kjolti emulate the World-Eater.

No, this hunt did not go as planned. But he would throw all his daydreams away for a few more moments like this, just sitting and holding Kjolti.

_She has to wake up_. He knew that sleeping after a head wound like this was not good. _Wake up, wake up,_ he silently pleaded.

Farkas reached once again for the water skin. Bracing himself, he poured the cold water over Kjolti’s face.

It had the desired effect. Her brow furrowed and she blinked and sputtered. Slowly her eyes opened, revealing the enchanting silver irises Farkas was so taken by. He relaxed upon seeing the natural color of her eyes restored.

“Farkas?” Her eyes were glazed over and unfocused. It reminded him of when he had accidentally knocked her out during training.

“I’m here,” He leaned over her. “You’re okay, Kjolti.”

Kjolti looked up at him with heavy eyes, still barely conscious. She blinked long and slow, making Farkas worry she would sleep again. But they opened once more, revealing the beautiful moons that were her eyes.

“Kjolti, you have to stay awake,” Farkas pleaded.

“But… I’m so tired,” she breathed.

“No, Kjolti. Stay with me.”

Kjolti smiled weakly. “You’ll stay with me?”

Farkas nodded. “I promise.” He could look at that smile forever.

***

It was nearly sundown when Kjolti was stable enough to journey back to Whiterun. They moved slowly, but Farkas didn’t mind. It was more time spent with her.

“Kjolti, how are you feeling?”

She looked at him quizzically. “What kind of question is that? I feel like shit,” she emphasized her wounded head and arm.

“No, I don’t mean physically.”

“How do you mean then?”

“I mean like…good and evil. I guess. I’m not sure what words I’m looking for.”

She stopped. “What is this about, Farkas?”

He hesitated. She wouldn’t like what he had to tell her. “Something…happened, Kjolti. When you transformed.”

She gave him a curious look. “What happened?”

“Well, you know, normally when we take our beast form, we still look kind of like ourselves. Hair color matches fur color, our eye color stays the same.”

She gave a half hearted grin. “What, am I going gray or something?”

“Your eyes were glowing red.”

The smile dropped in a heartbeat. “You mean like… they were bloodshot, like I haven’t slept.”

“No, I don’t. Your eyes were pure, blood red. And glowing. Without pupils.”

She said nothing.

“And you hunted differently too. You were far more…savage, than usual.”

Kjolti was quiet for a long time. She began to shuffle onward. “I see.”

“Kjolti, it was like…with your black fur, and your red eyes…it reminded me ofhow you had described—“

“I know,” she cut him off sharply. There were tears pooling in her eyes, and her face was filled with fear.

“Hey, its going to be okay. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything,” Farkas reached out, hoping to comfort her.

“Oh you don’t? You don’t think that it means anything, that _the fucking Dragonborn_ suddenly looks like _fucking Alduin_? The _World Eater_?? Don’t think that maybe its a bad sign?”

Farkas sighed. _I’ve ruined it again._ “It’s going to be okay, Kjolti.”

She sniffed and tried to steel her expression as they continued onward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the bulk of this chapter on the plane back in JANUARY. I've been sitting on it, trying to find just the right place for it. I think that it belongs here in Aerisif's story. 
> 
> Let me know if you liked what you read with a comment or a kudos! Thanks for reading:)


	9. The Dragon Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In light of her new, evil beast form, Kjolti knows what she has to do. Can she do it alone? Or will her stubbornness be the death of her?

Kjolti sat still while Tilma fussed over her wounds. She absently listened while the old maid berated her and all Companions ever for perpetually seeking out danger, in increasingly stupid ways.

Between her stinging words and salves, Tilma did grumble something about how Farkas did an “acceptable” job of patching her up. Kjolti was grateful when some of the maid’s tirade was then directed at Farkas for a moment. Farkas just grinned and took the abuse. He seemed familiar with it.

His assessment had been right: Kjolti would be unable to lift her greatsword for weeks. Luckily, it was her left arm that the bear tore up, not her right, which she favored. However, both were required for her behemoth weapon.

_I looked like Alduin._

Kjolti tried to construct the image in her head. Having never seen herself in beast form, she had to guess what she looked like. She imagined she was roughly the same size of Aela’s wolf shape, maybe a little smaller. Her black hair probably had a courser texture.

But as soon as she pictured the red eyes of Alduin on her changed shape she shuddered. Those eyes staring down at her were a sight she would never forget.

At her insistence, Farkas had recounted her battle to her. Kjolti couldn’t remember, and that frightened her too. He described the vicious ways she attacked the bears, the gore flying from her claw tips. He tried to hide it, but she could hear the fear in his voice.

She saw vividly the nightmares she’d had outside of Ysgramor’s tomb, watched Alduin tear apart those that she loved.

And then the vision shifted.

It was _her_ tearing apart her friends.

Kjolti bit her lip to stem the tears in her eyes.

She knew what she had to do.

***

Kjolti went to her room like everyone else at nightfall. She waited silently until she was certain everyone was asleep.

She crept through the halls, stopping outside of Farkas’s door. Her greatsword was in his care, he had carried it back from their hunting trip.

Kjolti paused. Part of her wanted to wake him, to have him accompany her. But she could still see the lingering fear in Farkas’s eyes when he described to her what she had done. She saw the blood on his face after battling a dragon with her.

_No. This, I must do alone._

Adjusting her pack, Kjolti crept up the stairs, into the mead hall, and out into the night. Slinking through the shadows, it was nearly impossible to see her. A familiar chill raced down her spine. She padded to the stables and mounted one of the horses that belonged to the Companions.

Kjolti directed the beast at a quiet walk until she was out of range from the city, and then spurred the horse northward at a gallop.

***

Kjolti rode hard all through the night and day. She ate in the saddle, fought to keep her eyes open through her exhaustion. The gait of the horse jostled her arm painfully, but she grit her teeth and moved on. She had to cover ground. She felt compelled to.

Her eyes scanned the skies every few minutes. Alone and wounded, a dragon attack would mean certain death for her. She rode on.

It was mid afternoon when she made it to the site where she had camped with Aela, Farkas, and Vilkas weeks ago. The signs of their battle with the dragon there still scarred the land, but curiously, the bones were gone.

_I have so much to learn about these beasts_ , she thought as she dismounted. She froze for a moment as she realized that in spirit, she _was_ one of those beasts.

Her instincts were driving her to cross the waters to the tomb now, to go, to move, but Kjolti was practically shaking from exhaustion. The icy waters alone could probably kill her in this state, to say nothing of the dangers within. She had to rest, regardless of how much she didn’t want to.

Kjolti fed her mount and spread out her bed roll. She managed to get a small fire going next to her. Muttering the most informal prayer to the divines for safety, Kjolti laid down and closed her eyes. Sleep took her within moments.

She woke to freezing winds and insatiable hunger. Fumbling through her pack, she found a grilled pheasant breast, a slice of goat cheese, and an apple. It was a significantly better meal than she had expected. As she bit into it, she realized she had no recollection of when that food made its way into her pack.

Kjolti chose not to dwell on that.

When she finally looked upward, her breath left her.

The skies were painted in shining pastels that shimmered and shifted. The aurora made the snow sparkle and glitter like thousands of diamonds.

Tears welled in her eyes and a sharp pit formed in her stomach. She could almost feel Brynjolf next to her.

Shaking off the memory, Kjolti finished eating and repacked her bedroll. She strapped it back onto the horse.

It was a dumb idea to cross the waters at night, Kjolti knew that, but she couldn’t stop herself. A wild desperation overcame her. She was driven by the beast blood that now felt like poison coursing through her.

_I have to do this. I have to do this NOW. Go. Move. NOW!_

Kjolti grit her teeth and waded into the icy waters.

The cold took her breath away, shocked her down to her core. It took monumental effort to keep moving forward, having to command each leg to move forward one at a time. Suddenly hearing Tilma scold her, Kjolti thrust her injured arm above the waters and winced.

In this manner Kjolti made her way across the waters. Each motion was wracked with pain, the icy waters digging into her and compressing her lungs. It felt like an eternity.

Gasping, Kjolti sloshed onto the shore. If she was shaking from exhaustion before her nap, she was doubly shivering now. Even though she was on solid land once more, each step was labored as if she still faced the resistance of the water. It took her longer than normal to reach the barrow.

Now on her hands and knees, Kjolti dragged herself into the barrow and pulled herself to the feet of the statue of Ysgramor. Wuthraad still loomed in his hands. Teeth chattering, Kjolti looked away from the blood stained axe and attempted to make a fire.

It took her nearly ten minutes to light the scraps of wood and foliage left inside as offerings, but eventually they took spark and a small fire formed beside Kjolti. She twisted her body, trying to put as much of it by the flame as possible.

_Just a little nap,_ she thought as she shut her eyes. _Just till I’m warm again._

Kjolti had no sense of time when she awoke again, just throbbing pain from her injured arm. She had not taken care to place it gently when she curled up by the fire and had slept on it painfully. Kjolti muttered an oath as she tested its range and found it even more limited than before.

The fire had smoldered out, indicating she had slept longer than she meant to. She cursed again and rose to her feet. Her head was throbbing. Had she drank any water that day? Kjolti fumbled with her waterskin and dripped its last contents into her mouth.

Kjolti began to make her way down the corridor when she stopped in her tracks.

The Original Companions. Would they still be there?

She ducked into a crouch and peered through the doorway. There they were, milling about the chamber, waiting for the next fool to come through and prove their worth.

Kjolti slunk back. It was challenging to get through when she had full use of her arm and both Aela and Farkas with her. What chance did she have alone and wounded?

_Wait, isn’t there another way through? Didn’t I open some passage?_

Kjolti crept back up the passageway and found the shortcut to the final chamber. She walked silently, sneaking through just in case. Every creak of a floorboard made her jump, every shadow a foe.

When she arrived at the main chamber, Kjolti felt a shiver run through her. She couldn’t tell if it was from the cold she had endured, or something else entirely. Kjolti eased herself to the ground and opened her pack. She began rummaging through it, searching for something specific that she hoped was still there.

Finally, her fingers found a familiar hilt.

She pulled a daedric dagger from the worn leather and inspected it.

Even in the dim blue light of the chamber, the weapon glowed with sinister black and red energy. Its edge had not dulled in the years since its last use, and Kjolti suspected it wouldn’t ever, or perhaps it would take much longer than any other blade. As she wrapped her fingers in a familiar grip, the hilt seemed to mould itself to her hand.

Kjolti stood, wincing as she rose. She took a practice swipe with the blade. When she was Aerisif, this weapon had been like an extension of her arm.

Now, it felt like her arm had been cut off. So used to the length and weight of a greatsword, Kjolti shifted her weight all wrong. She stumbled forward from the force of her swing. She was a finger’s breadth away from stabbing herself in her still aching midsection in the process, when she managed to twist aside at the last second.

Panting, Kjolti looked at the dagger.

_Have I truly forgotten?_

She turned the dagger over in her hands again. Kjolti closed her eyes.

She pictured herself, not so long ago, in her onyx leathers. Shadow cloaked her, clung to her form. She moved as one with the darkness. Her fingers twitched as she gripped the blade. It was like a shard of the night sky.

This weapon had been part of her, a piece of her mystique and legend.

When she was Aerisif The Shadow, Master of the Thieves’ Guild.

Aerisif opened her eyes. The blade seemed to pulse in her hand. Shadows cloaked her form. As if controlled by some other being, she grabbed a witch head, strode over to the blue flame, and dropped it within.

The beast lunged forth almost immediately, knocking Aerisif back. She scrambled, fear piercing her heart as she took in the shape before her.

Where as Kodlak’s wolf had been all red, this wolf was strikingly different.

While still spectral, this wolf was pure black.

With red glowing eyes.

Unbidden, a cry escaped her lips. Aerisif flung her good arm up, dagger clutched tightly, as the wolf attacked again. This time the blade caught some of its face and it whimpered and fell back. Aerisif had just enough time to get to her feet.

The two circled each other, moving slowly and surely, each staring unblinking at the other. Aerisif lunged forward, but telegraphed her movement and the wolf leapt nimbly aside and lashed out at her flank. Aerisif whirled but still felt the icy teeth catch her thigh. She used the momentum of her whirl to swing, sinking the dagger into the ghostly form of the giant wolf. It snarled and snapped.

They circled again. The wolf feinted and Aerisif fell for it, not expecting the wolf to move again so quickly. Massive icy paws struck her chest and knocked her down again, but Aerisif raised her dagger arm again and sliced into the wolf once more. Her injured arm caught the bulk of the fall and Aerisif buckled under it, falling completely prone on the ground.

The wolf advanced. Aerisif was gasping for breath.

Its red eyes locked on her. Aerisif felt the dragon in her chest flailing, raging wildly. It was screaming and tearing and fighting for survival, and so was she.

The wolf leapt toward her, jaws open and aiming for her exposed throat.

The life force of the dragon within her burst from her lungs, compacted into a single, power packed word.

“ _Fus!_ ”

The word was rough on her tongue, just as it was when it escaped her lips on the plains. But now it felt more familiar, tinged with the same power that she felt when she absorbed a dragon soul.

The spectral wolf was flung back several paces, knocked down.

Aerisif did not waste her advantage. She leapt up and hurled herself forward, blade before her, shadows streaking behind her. The wolf looked up just in time to see a shadow fly through the air as the shard of bloody midnight pierced its ghostly form. Aerisif drove the blade in deep and yanked, as if to sever the nerves and sinews, if they had existed.

The gargantuan wolf whimpered once as it crumbled. As its life extinguished, its spectral body faded into nothingness. Grimacing with pain and supporting her weight on her knees, Aerisif closed her eyes. She felt the beast blood fade from her veins, felt a vigor return to her muscles that she hadn’t even realized was lacking before. Her acute sense of smell vanished, and although that avenue of sensation faded, her world seemed to become brighter and more alive once more.

The wolf inside her was dead.

Only the dragon remained.

A whispered shout echoed in her ears, and somehow she knew that she was the only one who could hear it:

“ _Doh…vah…kiin_!”

“I am coming,” she panted. “I need to do one thing first, but I am coming, Masters. I will not delay any longer.” She could not know if the Greybeards heard her or not, but she whispered the words aloud just the same.


	10. I Would Stand At Your Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kjolti returns to Jorrvaskr from the Tomb of Ysgramor, cleansed of her beast blood. She is ready to move forward as The Dragonborn, to face The Greybeards.
> 
> But first, she must face Farkas, and her feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, my goodness. It's done.
> 
> When I had this idea while bored at work a year and a half ago, I thought I could tell this story in like, 7 chapters.
> 
> 25 chapters split into 3 parts and 48,000 words later, here we are.
> 
> I hope that you've enjoyed this leg of Aerisif's journey! It has been a painful chapter of her life, to be sure, but her story doesn't end here.

Aerisif sat on the roof of the temple, motionless in the night. Whiterun had long since gone to bed, and even Heimskr had stopped his crowing to get some rest. A gentle breeze pushed in from the plains.

Jorrvaskr loomed in front of her, stoic as ever. The task ahead of her seemed just as immoveable, just as daunting as the mead hall before her.

Aerisif wasn’t sure if her placid mood was due to indifference, or the relaxed nature of her clean blood. Since forgoing her beast blood, she had been feeling surprising serenity. Whereas before she was subject to the urges of the blood, Aerisif was now driven by a calm acceptance of her fate, of what she had to do.

But accepting it in the tomb of Ysgramor, and facing it here in the flesh were two different things.

Aerisif shifted, a shadow on a dark night. She had stowed away her loud steel armor. For her purposes, she needed to be able to move quietly. Aerisif had considered putting on her Nightingale armor. But even just holding it in her hands brought her too much pain,and instead she donned simple blue robes. To a casual observer, she would just be a citizen of Whiterun. Not a Companion. Not a Thane. Certainly not the Dragonborn.

She slipped off the roof silently, making little more than a soft thud as she hit the ground. Aerisif slid around the torchlight, remaining safely tucked in the shadows. She found the small window that was near the stairwell inside the mead hall, and tenuously worked it open. It hadn’t been opened in decades, probably, but luckily it moved without a sound. _Perhaps I still have some luck after all._

Jorrvaskr was asleep. None remained in the hall at this hour, even Tilma had gone to bed. The great fire in the middle of the hall was reduced to glowing embers. It was closer to dawn than dusk, and Aerisif knew she only had a little time before the sun would start to break over the horizon and Jorrvaskr’s warriors would awaken.

Aerisif’s footfalls made little sound as she crept down the stairs. The doors to the living quarters swung open and shut with minimal noise. A half-full tankard sat abandoned on a hall table. Aerisif gave half a smile, recalling her first visit to Jorrvaskr. She raised the tankard to her lips and drank it down, to the memory.

She arrived at her room. Aerisif undid the trap on the door, which she had placed there many moons ago. Her bed looked soft and inviting, but she resisted the temptation. She had to be out of the city by dawn. Instead, she grabbed the ornate tankard that she had been given by Farkas. She quietly searched her room for a scrap of parchment, and finding it, wrote four short words down, folded it up, and dropped it within the tankard.

Aerisif padded silently down the hall further. She paused at a corner, listening for any signs of life. Both Vilkas and Farkas were snoring audibly. Aerisif crept to Farkas’s door and let herself in, quickly shutting the door behind her.

Despite the darkness, Aerisif quickly made out the shapes of Farkas’s room. His prized greatsword leaned against the wall near the bed. Beside it rested her own greatsword. She could see that Farkas had cleaned, sharpened, and oiled the blade. She gave a sad smile at the sight. His armor, meticulously cleaned and cared for, sat nearby. Farkas didn’t keep much, but the things he did were important to him. Aerisif gently placed the ornate tankard on his shelf amongst some other items of his. She hoped it wouldn’t stand out too much. Aerisif traced the fine filigree designs with her finger, recalling the day Farkas pushed it into her hands with pride. The memory brought another pained smile to her lips. Sighing, she bolstered herself for what she had to do.

She whispered. “Farkas.”

The sleeping form shifted and the snoring stopped. It didn’t take much to wake him; his beast blood prevented a sound sleep.

Farkas’s soft brown eyes blinked wide as they focused. He opened his mouth, but Aerisif quickly shushed him, putting a finger to her lips.

“You came back,” he whispered. Farkas sniffed as he sat up. “And you cured yourself.”

“I,” Aerisif struggled with the words. ”I had to. You saw what I became.” She paused. “I’m leaving. I won’t be coming back.”

“What? Why?” Farkas’s confusion was plain on his face, mingled with sleepiness. “Stay,” he begged. “Stay with me.”

“I can’t, Farkas.”

“Why not?”

“I have to leave, Farkas. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk to me?”

“And only to you.”

Farkas’s face softened.

Aerisif hesitated. “I need to apologize to you.”

“What for?”

Her silver eyes were heavy with sadness. “For not being anything near what you deserve. For keeping so many secrets from you when you were so open with me.”

Farkas scratched his head. “Hey, now, I wasn’t so honest with you. I have my secrets.”

“I know, Farkas.”

“You know what?”

“I know. I know how you feel about me.”

His face flushed. “You do?”

She nodded.

“Is that why you’re leaving?” It was nearly imperceptible, but Aerisif thought she saw his lips tremble.

“No, it’s not.”

“But you’re still leaving.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t feel the same way, do you?”

Kjolti looked away. “It’s more complicated than that, Farkas.”

His heart sank. “Then explain it to me.”

Kjolti ran her fingers through her hair. “May I sit down?”

He motioned next to him on the bed. Farkas’s ears flushed at the sight of Kjolti sitting on his bed, and he was grateful for the darkness.

“I want you to know,” her voice began to quiver, “that my time here, my time with you, is precious to me. I came here initially for training, to be physically able to fight a dragon, but I stayed longer than I needed to. I stayed because Jorrvaskr became home, and the Companions became my family. But I can’t hide from my responsibility forever. I have to go.”

“Kjolti?”

“Farkas?”

“Do you love me?” His voice was as fragile as a baby bird.

Kjolti sniffed. “I was supposed to be executed at Helgen. Then Alduin attacked. And I should have died then. I didn’t, my body didn’t, because I have to kill him. Because someone, something, else decided that’s my destiny. But me, my soul, died there. I died in Helgen. I’m empty, Farkas. I’m a shell. I don’t love. I have nothing to give.” Farkas broke when he saw tears in her eyes.

She sniffed again. “If my life had been different, maybe—“ He silenced her with a finger to her lips. The contact surprised her. With gentle hands, Farkas cupped her face.

“I’m coming with you,” He whispered.

“No,” Kjolti’s voice was stern. “I need you here.”

“I’m coming with. I can help. I can protect you.”

“No! Listen to me. I could die,” she started.

“Which is exactly why I should join you.” He tenderly brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face.

“I need to know you’re here, protecting Whiterun. With the Companions. I can’t be everywhere at once. I need to know I’m leaving the city in good hands. Please.”

His eyes were welling with tears. “Don’t go,” he pleaded.

Tears dampened Kjolti’s face too. Farkas reached out and wiped away a tear falling from Kjolti’s silver moons. “I have to go. Promise me you’ll stay, Farkas. Promise me you won’t come tearing across Skyrim after me. Promise me.”

“Why should I?”

Kjolti sniffed. Then in a soft whisper, she murmured:

“Because you love me.”

Another tear fell. He gently wiped it away.

Farkas nodded and hung his head. “I promise.” His voice broke.

Silence sat between them.

“Take my sword.”

“What?” Kjolti was taken aback.

“Take my sword. Let me protect you, even if I can’t be with you.”

“But, didn’t your sword belong to—“

“Yes.”

“And you still want me to have it?”

“I do. Its served me well, let it serve you now.”

Kjolti nodded, tears still welling in her eyes. “Then take my blade. Please.”

Farkas nodded, but said nothing.

“Are you going to tell everyone?” Kjolti found her voice again after a moment.

“Do you want me to?”

She considered that. “Word will travel soon enough. Once it reaches Jorrvaskr, you can tell everyone you knew all along. But until then, please don’t let anyone know I returned. So, will you keep one last secret for me?”

He grasped her hand and kissed it softly. “I will keep them all, Kjolti.” Kjolti felt an unexpected shiver run down her spine as he did.

Farkas gathered himself up, and looked her straight in her eyes. Even in the dark, she could see the longing in his soft brown eyes. And mingled with it, a gentle sort of resolve.

“Kjolti, Kin of Dragons. I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in your stories.” His voice was like being wrapped in a soft blanket on a cold day.

“Farkas—“

“Shh,” he sniffed, fighting his own tears, “I would raise my sword in your honor, ready to meet the blood of your foes.”

“Farkas—“

“Shh. I would defend you till my dying breath.”

They were both crying.

“I would stand at your back, that the world might never overtake us.”

He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

“I love you, Kjolti.”

Kjolti placed her hand on his, still softly grasping her face. Farkas was staring at her intensely, with what she now recognized as passion. It had been there all along, and she hadn’t seen it. She hadn’t been able to.

Shaking a little herself, Kjolti reached out and took his face and pulled it towards hers.

Farkas’s heart leapt into his throat and he closed his eyes.

Their lips met, gentle as a breeze on a petal. Kjolti felt something lurch in her gut, and her head got dizzy. It was as if she had suddenly been placed in a boat on turbulent waters, but Farkas’s grasp steadied her, safe and tender. Farkas thought torchbugs were buzzing in his belly and stars danced in his head. He was sure he had never touched anything softer than Kjolti’s lips. They held the kiss for a few seconds before Kjolti pulled away. Farkas gave a little gasp.

Even after she broke off all contact, he kept his eyes shut, savoring every sensation of that moment. When he opened them, Kjolti, and his blade, were gone.

***

Aerisif breathed in the crisp night air. She had put her foreboding steel armor back on. Farkas’s greatsword was strapped to her back. Somehow, it felt like his touch, always there, always watching her back. It simultaneously felt like a hug and made her stand up taller. She looked like a Thane. She hoped she looked like The Dragonborn.

She pushed through the doors into Dragonsreach, the guards nodding in acknowledgement. A woman with brown hair was pacing the atrium. She halted when Aerisif walked in, and bowed her head in respect. “Honored to see you again, Thane.”

“Lydia,” Aerisif dipped her head in return. “What has you up at this hour?”

“Dreams of dragons, Thane. I’m haunted by them from time to time.”

Aerisif nodded. “I understand.” She straightened. “Follow me. I need your help.”

Lydia nodded stiffly and stood at attention. “I am at your command.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading A Thief In Wolf's Clothing! 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you'd like to read Aerisif do next! Or drop me a kudos or a comment if you liked what you read.
> 
> There is bonus Aerisif/Kjolti content on my tumblr, @DaedricLorde! Come say hi, check out my art, and the other little factoids about my girl that I drop there.
> 
> Thank you :)

**Author's Note:**

> Woo hoo!! Part III!! It blows my mind to think I started this over a year ago. Much more to come, hope you like the start!
> 
> If you liked what you read, let me know in a comment/kudos/over on tumblr @DaedricLorde!


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